


Sticking Together... For Survival

by BelovedCreation



Category: Jurassic World (2015), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedCreation/pseuds/BelovedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First, go see Chris Pratt in his most bangable role to date. Second, read this Captain Swan AU, inspired by Jurassic World and containing spoilers, but, as always, not a direct copy of the film.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticking Together... For Survival

The idea of a “dinosaur phase” was always inconceivable to Emma Nolan.

As she watched the dinosaur wallpaper be peeled off of her friends’ bedrooms, hers gained a new model in the corner and several thick books full of pictures and charts. For other girls, princess pillows faded to zebra print and neon. Mary Margaret and David had several artistic prints of dinosaurs framed. Some of those prints followed Emma to college and grad school and now, as her billionaire heiress mother and paleontologist father finally fulfilled their dreams to build Jurassic World, the colored drawing of Apatosauruses sits on her desk in the administrative building. It was something she used to gaze at every day, even running her fingers over the familiar lines, until the day her fingers ran along the spine of a newborn Apatosaurus and her heart swelled into something larger and happier than it had ever been before.

Emma Nolan lives a “dinosaur life.”

She tries to be there at a birth as often as possible, just to see the miracle of modern science, but the hassle of being the operations manager at the world’s foremost themepark keeps her from witnessing every dinosaur birth. The Apatosauruses she makes exceptions for, even going so far as to reschedule meetings and trips just to cup their beautiful faces in her arms and stare into their huge, wise eyes.

But when the first raptors were hatched, she was halfway across the world at a negotiation.

Their birth had come several days early and when she got the photo text message from her mother she had sworn out loud. Taking a chance on the cunning creatures had been  _her_ idea. Emma Nolan had been the one standing and passionately arguing at every developmental meeting, throwing fact after fact at the naysayers and slamming down a thick file on an animal behavioral specialist who had been hired to work with the raptors from birth and train them so they could be studied extensively before an exhibit would even become a consideration.

The plans had gone through, the scientists had turned excitedly to their test tubes, and a certain Killian Jones was given permission to park his houseboat at the dock reserved for staff and special guests only.

So Emma is not there to see the first round of raptors claw their way out of their shells, narrowed eyes to slowly blink at her in wary wonder. She stares at the pictures Mom sends her all day and curses the corporate structure that dictates the need to secure investors. Before she falls asleep, her fingertip hovers over her phone’s screen, tracing new and exciting lines and she dreams of a future more awesome and terrifying than she ever has before.

The meetings take another week and by the time she finally lands back at Jurassic World, it feels as though entire lifetimes have passed. Dr. Jones is doing well, her parents say, spending time with the raptors every day and already trying to teach them how to listen and pay attention to him. Emma nods distractedly over her venti cappuccino and flips through the professional photos taken for an eventual press release. She had been so excited for the raptors, and now she feels distant from the creatures she had advocated for. They’re not  _hers_ the way the Apatosauruses had been, or the Pteranodon. She feels a completely illogical jealousy coling deep within her stomach and she can only stand another five sleepless nights before she has to see them.

Emma secures the hood of a thick  _Jurassic World_  sweater over her long blonde hair and silently climbs the stairs onto the ledge of their brand-spankin’-new enclosure to catch a peek of this Dr. Jones in action. Sitting on the metal grid, arms braced on the railing and legs crossed like a child at storytime, she peers down into the foliage and watched a dark-haired man with heavy boots and sleeves pushed up his arms laugh and joke and interact with the four Velociraptors, charming them with his British accent.

It becomes a bit of a habit for her, after a while, when the world gets too tough and she feels as though another meeting will break her forever, to get away to the raptors enclosure and watch as Dr. Jones controls the uncontrollable. It continues even after she meets Killian Jones face-to-face, shaking hands and sharing their dreams for the program. He’s arrogant and full of himself and he always appears to have mud under his fingernails, even at fundraising galas. But he is  _beautiful_ to watch with the raptors.

She wonders sometimes if they listen to him because they sense a commonality with him, the man who moves as fast as lightning, with catlike grace and blue eyes that flash with danger when provoked. Emma herself holds back, knowing far too well what a man like that is capable of, the hearts lying in pieces in his wake and the desire to chase and attack deep within his playboy bones. Oh no, it is better to watch him from afar.

She can’t get hurt that way.

Emma’s observation goes on for more than a year, as the raptors gain nicknames and follow Killian Jones with deadly accuracy. Investors are salivating to hear more about their plans for the program and there is an entire team envisioning what to do with the most intelligent, deadly creatures within their domain. Emma sits in her usual spot, observing Tuesday morning drills, when it happens: Killian ends up in the enclosure with the four of them, jaws snapping and feet shuffling, clearly wanting to get past him to the shivering new guy who has barely escaped with his life. Killian is as Emma has never seen before, arm muscles rippling as he holds his hands outwards in warning to the deadly, prehistoric beasts. His commands are sharp, both to the shooters on the ledge and the animals within the pen.

But Emma cannot make out the words, the blood is rushing in her ears so loudly, and when he dives through the closing gate onto safe ground, Emma’s feet carry her to the outside of the pen before she realizes what is happening.

“Alright there, Ms. Nolan?” Killian wheezes, covered in grass and gazing at her through the bars with a devilish smile. “I would hate for you to lose your daily entertainment - or your animal behavioral expert.” A quick thumb scan and the bars part, Dr. Killian Jones stepping out of the pen and into her personal space. She can smell the sweetness of his sweat and she imagines, if she were to press her hand to his chest, she would be able to feel his heart still beating from his near-death experience.

“So you know I’ve been watching you.” It is not a question, but still something she needs answering.

“Of course.” He reaches out and tugs the oversized hoodie off of her head, fingers grazing her temple and forcing her to repress a shiver at the shock of his touch. “I find it hard not to notice a beautiful woman, especially when she is my boss.”

Emma’s lips press into a straight line and she rolls her shoulders back, hardly able to miss it when Killian’s eyes dart to her breasts before returning to her face. Her eyes flash but, as though he can read her mind, Killian’s grin widens and he takes another step forward so that her breasts are brushing up against his chest.

His words are whispered into her ear as though a secret. “Although,  _Emma_ , next time you cry out my name, I would much rather it be in ecstasy, not fear.” She claps her hand over her mouth and can feel her face flush, realizing that she had done that very thing when he jumped into the paddock against protocol. She gasps in surprise and he pulls away just enough so she can see the predatory sparkle in his eyes. “You needn’t worry, Ms. Nolan. If you were to ask me to dinner tonight, I promise not to cry sexual harassment.”

“I am not one of your  _raptors_ , Dr. Jones,” she hisses, straightening and taking a step back to try to regain a bit of dignity. “You cannot control me as you do them-”

“Now that is where you are wrong, darling,” he cuts in, holding up a single finger and silencing her purely from shock. “I do not control them, we have a  _relationship_ with one another based on mutual respect.”

“ _Relationship_?” Emma can feel her temper rising, ridiculously so, and her voice is becoming more and more high-pitched. “What does someone like you know about relationships? I bet you have never been with a woman longer than three hours in your life!”

Those big blue eyes flash with a sudden and inexplicable pain and Killian ducks his head and swallows before looking at her again. “Wrong again, love,” he chokes out. But no innuendo about five-hour sexual marathons fall from his beautiful lips, and Dr. Killian Jones takes another step back from her. “However, if that is what you think of me-”

The adrenaline from seeing Killian face death itself is still running through Emma’s veins, and it is that feeling that makes her hand dart out with reflexes to rival the raptors’ and grasp his elbow.

“Dr. Jones-  _Killian_. Wait.” His face is freed of the sexual swagger so evident at their previous interactions, and it is obvious that her words struck some chord inside of him. She feels bad. And more than that, she feels like if she doesn’t say something now she never will. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

* * *

 

Although the resort and park boast several impressive eating options, Killian insists that Emma come to his houseboat for him to cook her dinner. Emma thinks that’s like signing on for a Gallimimus and ending up with a Tyrannosaurus Rex, but her desire for discretion in her place of business wins out over her fear of enclosed spaces with gorgeous men. She agonizes for at least a half an hour over what someone wears to dinner on a  _houseboat_ , finally taking her cue from the casual jeans and khakis he always seems to wear while training the raptors. She slips on her favorite tank top, a soft, red one that has been well-worn and well-loved, and a long light tan skirt that will keep her from overheating in the tropical night air. Emma pulls up to his home at seven that evening and is surprised to realize it is not the dump she had been imagining for over a year, but a clean ship with a string of lanterns strung up all around it.

Killian is on the deck of the ship, leaning over the side doing something with a rope and sleeves rolled up his arms and frankly Emma is too distracted by the way she can see his arm and back muscles ripple through the white button up to spend time worrying about what task he is up to. She allows herself a moment to stare unabashed at his tight dark jean-covered ass, arms braced against the railing running around his home, before speaking up in an amused voice. “Permission to come on board?”

He turns at that, surprise in his eyes quickly melting into something darker and his tongue swipes his lower lip as he raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Ms. Nolan, you have permission to climb on board anything you would like.”

Emma rolls her eyes and allows him to help her step on the boat, his calloused hand strong under her own. “Please don’t call me  _Ms. Nolan_ ,” she requests as he leads her to a tiny table set up on the deck and holds out the chair for her like some 19th century gentleman. “You’ll make me feel like I’m in a business meeting.”

“More the pity; that was what I was going for.” He scoops something colorful and good-smelling onto both of their plates before sitting down. “I thought you liked business meetings. You always seem to be at them.”

“That’s because that’s my  _job_ , Killian,” she teases. “But I really don’t care to mix business and -” The last word of the well-known phrase sticks in her throat and her companion’s eyes go wide with glee.

“ _Pleasure_ , Emma?” he asks, tongue rolling over the words almost obscenely.

She bristles. Its her only defense. “I thought this was a date. Aren’t dates supposed to be more enjoyable than business meetings?”

Killian takes a large bite of their meal, prompting her to do the same. “You obviously have not gone on enough good dates if that is a question,” he says finally. “I guarantee that an evening with me is much more  _pleasurable_ than a boring meeting.”

“Hmmm, I’m not so sure,” she replies coyly, twirling her fork in the air and dipping it back into the food. “ _My_ business meetings are usually centered on dinosaurs. I happen to think that that is a very interesting topic of conversation.”

He nods, conceding the point. “I didn’t think you had much time to really talk about the animals, what with all the spreadsheets and quotas to deal with.”

“You’d be surprised. Part of my job is to keep a finger to the pulse of Jurassic World, to know how the guests are experiencing the park and how we can improve their stays. I go on the rides and visit the attractions quite frequently so I can give investors an idea of how the park makes you feel.”

“I suspect that your speeches are quite…  _passionate_.” His eyes are on her breasts again, but when she follows his gaze she realizes that a bit of sauce is dripping into her cleavage. She swipes at it with a finger and, catching his eye deliberately, she slowly licks her finger clean.

He stops breathing.

“You seem to think that I am a boring pencil pusher, Killian,” she says with a smirk, his eyes dark again. “But I think you’ll find that I am capable of being  _very_ passionate. Now-” she sucks on her forefinger and thumb again, briefly, to make sure all the sauce is gone, and pushes away her half-eaten plate “-can I ask you a question?”

Killian’s eyebrows rise and his arms reach out to signify supplication. “I am an open book, love.”

“How do you control the raptors so well?”

He leans forward, elbows rudely on the table, and she finds herself mimicking his actions so their faces are less than a foot apart from one another. “I told you, Emma, you have got it all wrong. I do not control them; we have a relationship of mutual respect.”

“And yet you call yourself the Alpha.”

Killian grins widely. “I do.”

“Isn’t that about control?”

“No, not at all, darling.” His eyes gain a little of that sadness she had seen earlier in the day and a hand reaches out, gently, to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because an Alpha would be nothing at all without his Beta -- without his pack.”

Emma is suddenly finding it very hard to breath and the insinuations in his voice, not of domination but mutuality, are frankly terrifying. This isn’t what she had hoped for when she agreed to come here tonight. Every muscle in her body tenses and she starts to pull away, to rock back and gain some distance, but that hand clamps down over hers, holding her in place with gentle firmness.

“It all begins with the imprinting at birth,” he continues evenly, as though she hasn’t moved at all. “I understand you like to be there when some of the animals are born.”

“Yes.” She nods, half-wondering if he had been asking about her, because this isn’t commonly-shared information. “Especially the Apatosauruses.”

“They are your favorite?” The smile on his face is genuine now, childlike and open, and it makes her smile in return, remembering the print on her desk.

“Yes.”

“After the imprinting, I try to form positive associations between myself and the animal. Bonding, you might say.” His thumb begins to work tiny circles on the back of her hand, making a segment of her spine turn to jello.

“And-and then?”

“The next step is positive reinforcement. When they do something that I want them to do, I reward them.” He takes her hand in his own now, turning it so he can bring the palm to his mouth. He hesitates, seeking permission with curious eyes, and when she bites her lip and nods, he brushes his lips against the flesh.

“What- what kind of rewards?”

His smile presses into her palm and he turns her hand so she is cupping his face, holding his stubbled cheek. “Every creature is different. They all have their own unique rewards, their own things that give them  _pleasure_. I take my time and let them tell me what they want most.”

Emma is finding it increasingly hard to breathe and her thighs are rubbing against one another, seeking friction as they grow warm and slick. “So you reward them when they do things you want them to do? What kinds of things?”

“I reward them when they trust me,” he says, his hand leaving hers to run down her arm, into the hollow of her elbow, and back up her arm and cup her own face, drawing it nearer so that their breath is mingling. “If they trust me, they can have anything they want.”

Plates and glasses end up in pieces on the floor as Emma grips the collar of Killian’s shirt and pulls him forward the last tantalizing inches to crush her lips against his. They both stand, the table toppling over beside them. Her hands are in his shirt and pressing against the small of her back, his own are digging into her hair, tangling in the long locks. He whispers her name against her lips and she pulls him closer, deepening the kiss, desperate for  _more more more_.

“What do you want, Emma?” Killian murmurs as his mouth makes a trail across her jaw and down the column of her neck. “I swear I will give it to you, whatever it is.”

He’s still speaking the language of their flirtation, of Alphas and Betas, of good behavior and rewards. Her thighs are slick now, embarrassingly so, and the way one of his hands moves to cup her ass doesn’t make it any better. The tropical heat suddenly feels oppressive and her hands clumsily work down his front, undoing the buttons and sliding it off of his shoulders so she can feel his toned chest, the soft dark hairs damp with sweat. She pulls her own top off as well and wriggles out of the skirt so she is standing before him, on the deck of his ship, wearing only the meticulously picked matching bra and panties set.

“Bloody hell woman,” he breathes when he gets a good look at her. “I am supposed to be the Alpha around here but you are making a man want to crawl on his knees and submit.”

Emma relieves him of his jeans and smiles triumphantly at the way he groans when she cups him through the fabric of his boxer briefs. “I thought it wasn’t about control.”

“Well, it isn’t  _all_ about control,” he whimpers, resting his palms on her hips as she slips her hand beneath the waistband of the underwear. “But there are still orders given and orders carried out.”

“Then my first order as Alpha,” she chuckles, pumping him twice, hard, and releasing him, “is that we go below deck.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” he quips, grasping her elbow and leading her down a set of stairs and to a small cabin, lived-in but tidy. A full-sized bed is made up in the middle of the room and he sits down on the edge of it, guiding her onto his lap so their hips are pressed against one another. She rocks against him, shivering when his hardness meets the place where she wants him most, and he grins.

“What do you want, Emma?” he asks.

“You,” she whispers back. The truth is a terrifying thing to admit.

“You have me,” he counters, making her stomach flop, then pressing her against him with both hands between her shoulder blades so he can suck the skin above one of her breasts. “I am here, darling. What do you  _want_?”

“I want you to touch me.”

Her voice trembles, but his arms do not as they lift her and gently set her back on the bed, sprawled across his comforter. He smiles down at her, that predatory look back in his eyes, and there is a tingle between her thighs that tells her he is in Alpha mode again. “Any place in particular?” He climbs on the bed and crouches above her on all fours, lifting a single finger to trail down the length of her body.

“All the places you’ve dreamed of touching me,” she breathes.

His tongue wets his lips. “Then we may be here all night, love.”

Emma loses track of time as his fingers and mouth trace all the lines and dips and swells of her body. When she gasps in pleasure he presses harder and when she gasps out his name he presses even harder. He’s teaching her as she teaches him but it is a lesson she is happy to learn, his name falling from her lips like a prayer, a curse, a cry. His name grows louder as he sends over over the edge of pleasure, tongue on her clit and fingers deep in her warm center. As she comes back to reality, his mouth is back on her neck, damp beard smearing her collarbones and he chuckles against her.

“I was right. To hear you cry my name in ecstasy is much better than fear.”

Still in a haze, Emma takes his cock in one hand and his ass in the other, lining him up against her entrance. “Then maybe you’d better stop risking your life,” she says drowsily, rubbing the tip across her damp folds.

His eyes are closed in shuddering bliss, but he opens them to look at her again with a frightening openness. “Emma,” he smiles, “don’t you understand? I love those raptors and sometimes love is a risk.”

His words have taken a serious tone and despite how much she wants him, wants  _all_ of him, the thought of what that entails is scaring her to death. “How do you know when something is worth the risk?” she asks.

Killian’s hand scoops under her head to cup her neck and run a thumb behind her ear. “You don’t. Sometimes you must take a leap of faith.”

Emma lifts her hips and presses against his ass so he slides into her, warm and hard and filling her perfectly. She exhales and waits for her muscles to relax and for this glorious feeling to dim. When it does, she starts moving against him and the fires that he had flamed and subdued come roaring back.

“Then take me,” she whispers against his lips. Emma reaches her arms above her head and locks her fingers, waiting for him to cover her hands with his strong palm. “Control me.”

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he mutters, eyes rolling to the back of his head and mouth drooping. “You’re liable to make a man lose his mind, speaking like that.” Killian moves his hips, painfully slowly, and as soon as her back arches and she whimpers for him to go harder, he doubles in speed and she cries out his name.

Somewhere along the way, when he releases her hands to touch the place where they are joined, she digs her heels into his ass and flips them and the Beta becomes the Alpha in a wonderful, wonderful way. He is the one screaming out her name, the sound an aphrodesiac until she comes a second time, body drenched with sweat. As she spasms around him, she feels his hips jolt upwards and his body stiffen, and she opens her eyes in time to catch the look of carefree wonder cross his face as he falls apart.

“So who was in control there, Dr. Jones?” she pants, his heartbeat slightly off from her own as their chests press together.

“I am not sure, Ms. Nolan,” he chuckles, the vibrations making her nipples tighten. “But I imagine we could test the situation a few more times and hope to reach a mutually satisfying conclusion.”

* * *

 

When the next round of raptors are born hers is the second face they see, after animal behavioral specialist Dr. Killian Jones. But the photo he snaps of her with her favorite, named  _Snow White_ , goes on her office desk next to another piece of artwork.

That one is a portrait of Mrs. and Dr. Jones on their wedding day.


End file.
